16. THE SLAYING OF BAKASURA :

IN the city of Ekachakra, the Pandavas
stayed in the guise of brahmanas, begging
their food in the brahmana streets and
bringing what they got to their mother,
who would wait anxiously till their return.
If they did not come back in time, she
would be worried, fearing that some evil
might have befallen them.


Kunti would divide the food they brought
in two equal portions. One half would go
to Bhima. The other half would be shared
by the other brothers and the mother.
Bhima, being born of the Wind god had
great strength and a mighty appetite.
Vrikodara, one of the names of Bhima,
means wolf-bellied, and a wolf, you
know, looks always famished. And
however much it might eat, its hunger is
never quite satisfied.


Bhima's insatiable hunger and the scanty
food he used to get at Ekachakra went ill
together. And he daily grew thin, which
caused much distress to his mother and
brothers. Sometime later, Bhima became
acquainted with a potter for whom he
helped and fetched clay. The potter, in
return, presented him with a big earthen
pot that became an object of merriment to
the street urchins.


One day, when the other brothers had
gone to beg for alms, Bhimasena stayed
behind with his mother, and they heard
loud lamentations from the house of their
brahmana landlord. Some great calamity
surely had befallen the poor family and
Kunti went inside to learn what it was.
The brahmana and his wife could hardly
speak for weeping, but, at last the
brahmana said to his wife: "O unfortunate
and foolish woman, though time and again
I wished we should leave this city for
good, you would not agree. You persisted
in saying that you were born and bred
here and here you would stay where your
parents and relations had lived and died.
How can I think of losing you who have
been to me at once my life's mate, loving
mother, the wife who bore my children,
nay, my all in all? I cannot send you to
death while I keep myself alive. This little
girl has been given to us by God as a trust
to be handed over in time to a worthy
man. It is unrighteous to sacrifice her who
is a gift of God to perpetuate the race. It is
equally impossible to allow this other, our
son, to be killed. How can we live after
consigning to death our only solace in life
and our hope for the here after? If he is
lost, who would pour libations for us and
our ancestors? Alas! You did not pay heed
to my words, and this is the deadly fruit of
your perversity. If I give up my life, this
girl and boy will surely die soon for want
of a protector. What shall I do? It is best
that all of us perish together" and the
brahmana burst forth sobbing.


The wife replied: "I have been a good
wife to you, and done my duty by bearing
you a daughter and a son. You are able,
and I am not, to bring up and protect your
children. Just as cast out offal is pounced
upon and seized by rapacious birds, a poor
widowed woman is an easy prey to
wicked and dishonest people. Dogs fight
for a cloth wet with ghee, and in pulling it
hither and thither in unclean greed, tear it
into foul rags. It would be best if I am
handed over to the Rakshasa. Blessed
indeed is the woman who passes to the
other world, while her husband is alive.
This, as you know, is what the scriptures
say. Bid me farewell. Take care of my
children. I have been happy with you. I
have performed many meritorious actions.
By my faithful devotion to you, I am sure
of heaven. Death has no terror for one
who has been a good wife. After I am
gone, take another wife. Gladden me with
a brave smile, give me your blessing, and
send me to the Rakshasa."


Hearing these words of his wife, the
brahmana tenderly embraced her and,
utterly overcome by her love and courage,
he wept like a child. When he could find
his voice, he replied: "O beloved and
noble one, what words are these? Can I
bear to live without you? The first duty of
a married man is to protect his wife. I
should indeed be a pitiful sinner if I lived
after giving you up to the Rakshasa,
sacrificing both love and duty."


The daughter who was hearing this
piteous conversation, now interposed with
sobs: "Listen to me, child though I be, and
then do what is proper. It is me alone that
you can spare to the Rakshasa. By
sacrificing one soul, that is, myself, you
can save the others. Let me be the little
boat to take you across this river of
calamity. In like manner, a woman
without a guardian becomes the sport of
wicked people who drag her hither and
thither. It is impossible for me to protect
two fatherless orphans and they will
perish miserably like fish in a waterless
pond. If both of you pass away, both I and
this little baby brother of mine will soon
perish unprotected in this hard world. If
this family of ours can be saved from
destruction by my single death, what a
good death mine would be! Even if you
consider my welfare alone, you should
send me to the Rakshasa."


At these brave words of the poor child, the
parents tenderly embraced her and wept.
Seeing them all in tears the boy, hardly
more than a baby, started up with glowing
eyes, lisping: "Father, do not weep.
Mother, do not weep. Sister, do not
weep," and he went to each and sat on
their lap by turns.


Then he rose up took a stick of firewood
and brandishing it about, said in his sweet
childish treble: "I shall kill the Rakshasa
with this stick." The child's action and
speech made them smile in the midst of
their tears, but only added to their great
sorrow.


Feeling this was the moment for
intervention, Kuntidevi entered and
inquired for the cause of their sorrow and
whether there was anything she could do
to help them.


The brahmana said: "Mother, this is a
sorrow far beyond your aid. There is a
cave near the city, where lives a cruel and
terribly strong Rakshasa named Bakasura.
He forcibly seized this city and kingdom
thirteen years ago. Since then he has held
us in cruel thraldom. The kshatriya ruler
of this country has fled to the city of
Vetrakiya and is unable to protect us. This
Rakshasa formerly used to issue from his
cave whenever he liked and, mad with
hunger, indiscriminately kill and eat men,
women and children in this city. The
citizens prayed to the Rakshasa to come to
some sort of stipulation in place of this
promiscuous slaughter. They prayed: 'Do
not kill us wantonly at your whim and
pleasure. Once a week we shall bring you
sufficient meat, rice, curds and
intoxicating liquors and many other
delicacies. We will deliver these to you in
a carriage drawn by two bullocks driven
by a human being taken from each house
in turn. You can make a repast of the rice,
along with the bullocks and the man, but
refrain from this mad orgy of slaughter.'


The Rakshasa agreed to the proposal.
From that day, this strong Rakshasa has
been protecting this kingdom from foreign
raids and wild beasts. This arrangement
has been in force for many years. No hero
has been found to free this country from
this pest, for the Rakshasa has invariably
defeated and killed all the brave men who
tried. Mother, our legitimate sovereign is
unable to protect us. The citizens of a
country, whose king is weak, should not
marry and beget children. A worthy
family life, with culture and domestic
happiness, is possible only under the rule
of a good, strong king. Wife, wealth and
other things are not safe, if there be no
proper king ruling over us. And having
long suffered with the sight of others'
sorrow, our own turn has come now to
send a person as prey to the Rakshasa. I
have not the means to purchase a
substitute. None of us can bear to live
after sending one of us to a cruel death,
and so I shall go with my whole family to
him. Let the wicked glutton gorge himself
with all of us. I have pained you with
these things, but you wished to know.
Only God can help us, but we have lost all
hope even of that."


The political truths contained in this story
of Ekachakra are noteworthy and
suggestive. Kunti talked the matter over
with Bhimasena and returned to the
brahmana. She said: "Good man, do not
despair. God is great. I have five sons.
One of them will take the food to the
Rakshasa."


The brahmana jumped up in amazed
surprise, but then shook his head sadly
and would not hear of the substituted
sacrifice. Kunti said: "O brahmana, do not
be afraid. My son is endowed with
superhuman powers derived from mantras
and will certainly kill this Rakshasa, as I
have myself seen him kill many other
such Rakshasas. But keep this a secret,
for, if you reveal it, his power will come
to naught."


Kunti's fear was that, if the story got
noised abroad, Duryodhana's men would
see the hand of the Pandavas, and find out
their where abouts. Bhima was filled with
unbounded joy and enthusiasm at the
arrangement made by Kunti.


The other brothers returned to the house
with alms. Dharmaputra saw the face of
Bhimasena radiant with joy to which it
had long been a stranger and inferred that
he was resolved on some hazardous
adventure and questioned Kunti who told
him everything.


Yudhishthira said: "What is this? Is not
this rash and thoughtless? Relying on
Bhima's strength we sleep without care or
fear. It is not through Bhima's strength
and daring that we hope to regain the
kingdom that has been seized by our
deceitful enemies? Was it not through the
prowess of Bhima that we escaped from
the wax palace? And you are risking the
life of Bhima who is our present
protection and future hope. I fear your
many trials have clouded your judgment!"


Kuntidevi replied: "Dear sons, we have
lived happily for many years in the house
of this brahmana. Duty, nay, man's highest
virtue, is to repay the benefit he has
enjoyed by doing good in his turn. I know
the heroism of Bhima and have no fears.
Remember who carried us from
Varanavata and who killed the demon
Hidimba. It is our duty to be of service to
this brahmana family."


After a fierce battle, the Rakshasa
Bakasura was slain by Bhima who
pretended to bring him a cartload of food.